"I apologize, I'm late."
The elderly count in the wheelchair was pushed by his maid into the cemetery.
"When one grows old, it takes half a day to change clothes. I apologize for keeping everyone waiting."
Sensing the stagnation in the air, he smiled and nodded at the crowd. However, not many responded.
The old count didn't mind too much, assuming that people were just immersed in the mourning ceremony's sad atmosphere.
He curbed his smile, putting on a serious face, and with the support of the maid, he slowly stood up and walked shakily to the tomb of Count Brugen.
"Grace, you're about to get married. I estimate you won't have many opportunities to come back, so you should preside over the memorial ceremony this time."
Grace looked into the old count's eyes but remained silent.
The old count frowned, about to speak again, only to be interrupted by Grace's cold voice:
"Grandfather, I don't want to marry Camila St. Prowse."
